


Hymnal For The Courageous

by GalaxySeer



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Flustered Draal is too cute, M/M, Niece Original Character, Original cat characters - Freeform, Sisterly Nomura, Strickler struggling to keep her a secret from both sides, Uncle Strickler, Uncle-Niece Relationship, this is going to be great
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 02:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxySeer/pseuds/GalaxySeer
Summary: The letter was off-putting, a feeling that Strickler was not appreciating. It didn't take him long to read the contents of the letter, only for it and some other pieces of paperwork to fall from his hands. Wide green eyes filled with shock, followed by tears. The sobs of a broken-hearted man filled his home that night.She was a mirror image of her mother, from appearance to the attitude. And that may have been just what he needed in his pseudo-life.





	Hymnal For The Courageous

The mail had been late that morning, an unusual occurrence since the mailman had a bit of an OCD streak. Walter Strickler almost missed it on his way to work, the high school. Mr. Foster caught him just as he was putting his bag in the car.

"Hey Walt, got your mail for the day," the young currier hollered, waving the few pieces of parcels in his hands. Walter turned around and smiled, "Almost missed me."

Mr. Foster nodded, "I apologize for the timing, yours seemed to slip to the bottom of the bag. Didn't see them until I was all the way up to Ms. Tager's house. Ran the whole way back. Sorry again." He handed the mail to the teacher, who flipped through them absent-mindedly. Bill, bill, bill, credit-card application, bil- oh, it was a letter. 

Walter frowned and waved as Mr. Foster continued on his route. It was a formal letter, addressed to him, though there was no return address. Slipping his finger in the fold, he swiped to open it, but ended up getting a paper cut. He hissed and shoved his finger in his mouth. Eventually, he was able to open the letter with no further injury. The glare at the letter, however, turned into shock then followed by tears. And the letters fell from his hands, falling to the ground.

* * *

 

My mouth had gone dry as I gazed at the house with terror. The cab had pulled up a few minutes ago, but I was too afraid to open the door. The cabby turned around in the driver's seat, "End of the line, kid. Time to get out." He was crisp and crude. I had seen him looking at me through the rear-view. I opened the door and stepped out. So little I had brought with me. A single duffle-bag, filled with all the essentials, for both me and Nik. I paid the cabby a ridiculous amount of money and then walked up to the faded old oak door. 

My nerves were running amuck, little help would be able to sooth them. However, no matter how scared or nervous I was. I held to what Mom told me and knocked on the door. For a long moment, there was nothing, no sounds, no movement. That was until the door was yanked open and I was greeted by the sight of a very flustered middle-aged man. 

He was tall, or at least taller than me. Probably around 6' even. He had a large nose, bright green eyes, jet black hair that was slicked back, some gray was in there on the edges. He wore a relaxed suit with a turtle-neck. Then again, he was extremely flustered. Not like aroused flustered, more like rushed work flustered. Some hairs were out of place, his cheeks were rosy, and he was panting.

Neither one of us said a word until he motioned to come in. I gulped and went in.

The house was very spartanic, the bare essentials and some decor. I followed him to the living room, where he motioned for the couch to sit. I tentatively set my bag down on the side of the loveseat. 

Mr. Strickler shifted uncomfortably in his spot, I assumed there was much he wanted to talk about. And yet I understood that sometimes thoughts get caught in our throats and we cannot speak them. With the history that he had with my mother, I did not know how to go into that conversation

Gradually, it seems he gained the courage to finally speak, “I only received the letter two days ago. How long did it take you to get here?” The tall man leaned back in his chair causing it to croak. There was tension in his form, it would seem that I was not the only one with nerves.

“I think around four hours, I slept through most of it though,” I whispered. There was awkwardness in the air, both of us could sense it. And then it seemed a small sliver of vulnerability showed through his facade. His eyes droop with tiredness that only came from days without sleep, and as I glanced to the side table next to his chair I caught sight of a piece of paper.

His own green eyes followed my sight trail. He sighed, “What all did your mother tell about us?” There was sadness in his voice as he asked the question. I folded my arms and held them against my chest and intent to soothe my sadness. the tears that flooded my eyes were not voluntary.

“Everything that she could,” I mumbled. “She tried to fit in all that she could. Especially on those final days. I was raised with the story about you and her, she wanted me to know you even though I wouldn't know you personally.”

I could see the tears that were coming into his eyes. And like that the conversation was over.

* * *

 

Walter watched as his new ward went upstairs to go rest for the night. He had spent hours cleaning and setting up the new guest room in hopes that she would feel a sliver of home. Waiting until he heard the door shut, he finally let the tears flow. Better to get them out of the way now, he thought.

Becoming a guardian of a teenager with something that he was not expecting in his life. Yes, of course, there was Young Atlas, but legally Kenna was his. However, that's where the problem arose while in the paperwork she might be marked down as his, emotionally that was another thing.

“Oh Laurel,” he moaned, “Why me?”

 

That night, there was crying in two rooms.


End file.
